


a place in this world

by nicheinhischest



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:39:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicheinhischest/pseuds/nicheinhischest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing sensible happens in Beacon Hills High School after hours. Honestly, nothing sensible happens in Beacon Hills High School <i>ever</i> but, you know. Running from werewolves, running from hunters, running from Jackson in the shape of a giant lizard man-baby - it’s not exactly within the realm of normal high school experiences to begin with.</p><p>But this day, in particular? This one takes the cake.</p><p>It takes the whole damn bakery, if you ask Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a place in this world

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from [Passion Pit's "Smile Upon Me"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pp0mNFr1iNw). In which I tried to write a completely ridiculous premise and ended up spilling feelings, like, fucking _everywhere_. *whispers* but don't u have like three other things to finish - DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO YOU'RE NOT MY REAL MOM

Nothing sensible happens in Beacon Hills High School after hours.

Honestly, nothing sensible happens in Beacon Hills High School _ever_ but, you know. Running from werewolves, running from hunters, running from Jackson in the shape of a giant lizard man-baby - it’s not exactly within the realm of normal high school experiences to begin with.

But this day, in particular? This one takes the cake.

It takes the whole damn bakery, if you ask Stiles.

*

This is the first time Stiles has ever been at school after hours _willingly_ and it’s really only because he’s bored and if he looks up one more magical folklore entry on Wikipedia without taking some sort of break first, he’s going to smash his way into the vet’s clinic and steal all the mountain ash until Deaton gives Stiles an answer for once beyond cryptic smiles and obscure definitions.

Scott’s bike was still outside when Stiles went to go toss his laptop in his Jeep, so he’d done an about face and marched back into the school because, whatever, he’s _bored_ , it’s totally okay for him to miss his best friend. Someone, somewhere, has to think it’s cute, the way he and Scott can’t ever leave each other alone. 

(Jesus, Scott’s mom once punished Scott once with _no Stiles_. It’s not like they listened to her, but still. It cut deep.)

Once he's back inside, he texts Scott _Where are you buddy?_ and in the time it takes Scott to respond, Stiles skulks down three hallways and attempts to break into a random locker just to see if he can (he can’t).

_Chesmtry alb ffor detnetion_

Stiles turns right at the corner to head towards the classroom.

_I’m bored and if I perform another Google search for ancient texts tonight I’m gonna spew chunks so I am coming to visit you!!! :D_

He’s almost there when Scott texts him _Shes in abthroom back in afew min noit a ogod idea ull get in trouble_.

And really. 

Since when has Stiles _ever_ turned down the option for trouble?

*

There's music playing on the teacher's open laptop when Stiles strolls into class, and he plants his hands on the edges of the lab table blocks on either side of him, swings his way to where Scott is sitting - last one, all the way in the back. Scott’s hunched over, staring down at his open textbook with a wrinkle collecting in his forehead, and he glances up when Stiles’ feet land with a thump in front of his table.

“Dude, are you having a stroke?” Stiles asks, and Scott’s hands curl into fists. “Those texts were incoherent.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Are you _drunk_? Are you _drinking on school grounds_ , Scott?”

“Werewolves,” Scott closes his eyes. “Werewolves can’t get drunk.”

“I’m sure you could if you tried hard enough,” Stiles muses. “Maybe down a bottle of Jack in one go. Take shots of Jägermeister until your blood turns brown.”

“That’s - dis - ” Scott jerks forward and narrows his eyes at Stiles, “- gusting, dude.”

“I know,” Stiles chirps happily, and walks around the lab table.

“No!” Scott’s hand shoots out, and Stiles pauses, leg stilling mid-step. “Sit at the table in front of me. Teacher’ll make you,” he sags in his seat and breathes out through his nose. “She’ll make you leave otherwise.”

“Oh...kay.” He backs away, sits at the table directly in front of Scott. “Dude, seriously are you alright? This isn’t like, a weird werewolf thing isn’t it? Do you have a wereteen flu? What are your symptoms?”

Scott buries his head in his arm and laughs. 

Which like, okay, it’s not like there’s a webMD for magical maladies, but there’s no need to laugh at him, he’s only trying to help.

“M’not laughing at you,” Scott manages, even though it sounds an awful lot like he’s _still openly laughing_. “I swear.”

"Right," Stiles drums his knuckles on the tabletop, and hums along to the opening bars of the next song that comes up on shuffle as the teacher walks in again - it's the new sub, the one they hired after Blake _mysteriously disappeared_ , and you'd think this town would be wary of how many people regularly go missing, but if no one's pointing a finger at Stiles or anyone he loves, and if Blake's finally out of the picture, then whatever. She gives Stiles a halting, confused look - Stiles can see her shiver, and he smiles.

"Stiles?"

He waves. 

She sits at her desk and taps her fingers to her chin. "I don't quite recall handing you a detention."

"You're my favorite teacher," Stiles says easily, even though he can't even remember her name, and sits up nice and straight like the best student he can be. "I missed you! What have you been up to? Read any new novels lately? Seen any good movies?"

She flips through a test at her desk and doesn't look up. "Just keep it down, Mr. Stilinski. He's in here another twenty minutes."

"Gotcha, teach."

She marks something down with a red pen. "Miss Webb."

"Miss Webb," he nods sagely, and twists in his seat to look at Scott. Scott's palm is flat against his text book and he fists the pages, crumbles them up in his grip; the jaw in his muscle twitches and he scrubs his free hand through his hair. He lets out another gust of breath, sharp and slightly pained, and Stiles angles back in seat, whispers out of the corner of his mouth, "Do you have an upset stomach? Bet the nurse has Pepto-Bismol."

Scott shakes his head quickly, jerks in his seat again. "I'm f - _fine_."

"Still look like you're gonna puke, bud. Or faint.” He blinks. “Scott, are you sweating?"

Scott rips the pages out of his book.

“Shit,” he mutters, and tries vainly to flatten them before he starts and grips the edge of the lab table with both hands. 

“ _Shit_ ,” he says again, pitch too-high, and Stiles swings around in his seat. 

“Scott, _seriously_.”

“Turn around,” Scott hisses at him, and okay, his scary werewolf voice bleeds into the command. Stiles respectfully disagrees by sticking out his tongue. 

“You’re not wolfing out are you?”

Scott gives an emphatic _no_ , and Stiles gestures at him, stage-whispers, “Then what’s _wrong_?”

“Mr. Stilinski,” Stiles looks over at Webb. She smiles, but her eyes flash. “Keep it down.”

“Sorry.” He reaches for a lone textbook on his lab table, flips mindlessly through it while Scott has his werewolf-y freakout; it’s then Stiles hears a low choke and for the love of _Christ_ if his best friend dies in a chemistry lab in Beacon Hills High School, Stiles is never going to forgive him. 

“You are so far from okay right now, dude,” Stiles says without turning around. 

Scott coughs louder this time. “Sorry,” he says weakly, and a little amused, too. “Just - something caught in the back of my throat - _ow_.”

Stiles turns around _again_ \- Scott’s studying the table and trying not to laugh. He’s officially lost it. Stiles turns in time to see Webb glance up at the clock, and Scott huffs shakily behind him, scrape of his lab stool against the floor. Stiles will not turn around again. Not until Scott stops acting like a pod person.

Scott whimpers, and Stiles hunches over and he will not help. He _won't_.

Webb looks up at that. "You alright, Scott?"

"Muh-huh," Scott says, like that's an answer.

She stares at him, and then shakes her head and drops it; Stiles doesn't blame her - teenagers are already weird enough, adding lycanthropy to the list of awkward stages you're forced to go through will probably result in a weird noise or like, seven.

"Right. How about I end this a few minutes early, hm?" she asks, and closes her laptop. She slips it into her tote bag and pushes her chair out. "It's Friday, I'm sure you both have plans."

"Mhm," Scott chokes out. Webb stands at her desk and pauses awkwardly. 

"Scott?"

"I got this, Webb," Stiles waves a hand. "Go have fun doing whatever it is adults do on the weekend that are probably too vulgar for my delicate teenage ears to hear."

"Stiles," she warns.

"I won't burn down the classroom," Stiles promises, and she hesitates for another moment before sighing and grabbing her bag off the desk. 

"Happy weekend, boys," she says as she heads out. "And be good!"

Stiles stares after her and narrows his eyes. "She says that like we're never _not_. Sorta resent the implication that I'm a troublemaker. Maybe you. And Allison and Lydia. Also probably me, yeah. I might instigate a lot of things actually." He swivels his butt in the stool to face Scott. "You think there's an Instigators Anonymous I could go to? Or like, a Friends Of Supernatural Creatures support group? We'd hold hands and share stories. My name’s Stiles and I’m a human - dude, we’re like _Adventure Time_ ," Stiles laughs, and then asks, "Are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah, Stiles, totally," Scott sighs tiredly; his hand drops to his lap and he's slumped forward and that's when Stiles hears, “ _Is she gone for real_?”

Stiles flails in his seat because unless Scott’s mastered ventriloquism and learned how to throw his fucking voice like those dudes on Sesame Street, _that didn’t come from him_.

“Um?” he asks, and Scott bites his lip.

“Oops,” a voice says from underneath the table.

Stiles falls off his stool. 

“Uh,” he lies on the floor, stares straight up at the ceiling like it will give him some answers. Or possibly like it will teleport him into another dimension. Or maybe open up and pull him into a vortex filled with memory-eating tapeworms. That is also a viable option. “Hey, buddy, why is Isaac down by your feet?”

“Looking for a pencil?” Scott tries, and Stiles nods. 

“Right. And how long has he been there?”

“Probably when Scott’s texts started getting incoherent,” Isaac's disembodied voice says, and Stiles covers his face with his hands. 

“Christ, were you _sucking his_ -”

“Stiles!” Scott barks, and Isaac laughs. 

“You _were_ ,” Stiles moans into his hands and curls up on the floor. He hears the distinct sound of a zipper being pulled up and he’s going to die here. He’s just going to stay right on the floor until his heart stops beating, and he'll die, and on his tombstone he’ll have it written: 

Here Lies Stiles. Unknowingly Watched His Best Friend Get a Blowjob to Completion. (No, Seriously. _He Came_.)

“Oh, my God. _Omigod_.”

“Stiles, it’s not -”

“There is not enough brain bleach in the world, holy shit.” Stiles sits up on his knees and grips the edge of Scott’s table to peek up at him. “You’ve scarred me, Scott. How do I bounce back from this? How do I look you in the eye knowing what you’ve done?”

“I’ve gotten a blowjob before, Stiles,” Scott says, embarrassed but determined, and Stiles flaps his arms and promptly falls to the floor again.

“But not in front of me! Not while I was participating in some weird voyeuristic ritual! How many _other_ times have you gotten your dick wet with me around, hm? How many times, Scott!”

“Never!” Scott tells him, the same time Isaac says, “Well. I think there was that time you called to talk about _The Avengers_?”

"I thought he was just really emotional about my Bruce Banner character analysis!"

"Sure," Isaac agrees amicably. "Also, he was trying not to moan."

Stiles points at him in warning, and then flops his arms down. "Stop it, Isaac - oh God, I can’t even move my limbs anymore. You’ve rendered me useless. I’m basically plankton.”

“That dude from _Spongebob_?”

“No, Scott, actual fucking plankton. Unable to do anything but go with the flow.” He sits up properly now, climbs back onto his stool. “The flow being watching my best friend get sucked off.”

“To be fair,” Isaac’s head pokes up at that, next to Scott. His hair's a mess and his lips are swollen and his cheeks are flushed and Stiles is so, so unprepared for this, for life, for _everything_.

" _Your mouth_ ," Stiles sounds like he's weeping, he's tempted to cross himself honestly, father son and the blow-y ghost, and all that. Isaac grins.

"I know, right?" He plunks his chin on the lab table, fingers folded over the edges, and he starts again: “To be fair, plankton are a really useful food group to a lot of underwater animals.”

“Eat me then,” Stiles bites. 

Isaac smiles again - or maybe he bares his teeth - and he pulls himself up to sit next to Scott and - oh God, he swipes something from the corner of his mouth with his thumb and licks it off contemplatively and it is definitely come and not Toaster Strudel icing like Stiles wishes it was.

Stiles is disillusioned with the world. There's a dirty, broken eraser next to his head, and he thinks maybe he identifies with it's heartbreaking existence on a soul-deep level. He bumps his fist against it in solidarity and shuts his eyes. “I killed someone in a past life,” he says. “That’s what this is. I killed someone, and now I’m being punished for it.”

“Are you mad because you didn’t know, or mad because you couldn’t watch?” Isaac throws back at him, and Stiles flips him off in answer. 

“I mean,” Isaac says, smirk still in place. “I _could_ , if you wanted.”

Stiles fake laughs, and then drops his hand because that’s not what he _means_ , and Isaac knows it, but Scott struggling not to smile, too. Stiles narrows his eyes. “Your post-orgasm face is eerily similar to what I imagine betrayal looks like,” he notes, and Scott throws his head back and laughs.

Isaac leans forward, plants his elbows on the lab tabletop. “You’re really milking this for all the dramatics it’s worth, huh?”

“You had your mouth,” Stiles says, and winces, because honestly _Isaac’s mouth is still right there_ and Stiles is sure it’s probably a crime. To be like. Too pout-y? Stiles kicks the lab table, and jabs an accusatory finger in Scott’s direction. “You had your mouth on his dick while an innocent teacher in front of you graded innocent papers innocently and _I’m_ the one aiming for dramatics?”

Isaac nods, and it’s pandering, and Stiles is going to murder him, probably. “Oh, I bet you loved it," Isaac starts on a murmur. "And all this is just you posturing. What's that saying? 'The lady protests too much, methinks.’”

Stiles crosses his arms. “This isn’t _Hamlet_ , I’m not some woman in a play constructed to reveal guilt, and I’m pretty sure Claudius never watched Rosencrantz and Guildenstern like - whatever, sixty-nine each other, dude.”

Scott snorts. "Jesus, Stiles."

Isaac raises a know-it-all eyebrow and Stiles wants to shave it off while he sleeps. Shave both off. See if anyone wants him to suck their dick without eyebrows. Asshole.

“Maybe he did, though? Who knows? Maybe,” Isaac picks himself up and leans forward more and finishes with a whisper: "Maybe all he wanted to do was fuck one of them.”

“You’re at a ten and you need to be at a one, oh my _God_ ,” Stiles tips his head back and tries to figure out when, exactly, this became the kind of thing that happened to him, and Isaac laughs again. 

“I’m just fucking with you man.”

Stiles looks back down at that; Isaac’s grinning so wide his stupid teeth are threatening to overtake his face and Scott is staring at him like he’s unbearably _fond_ of Isaac’s smile and Isaac’s face (and like, _Isaac in general_ ) and Stiles is actually, physically, going to throw up.

"I'm going to throw up," he says aloud, sitting back in his seat, just so they know.

“You do that,” Isaac says, and taps a beat onto the table. “ _I_ am going home.”

Stiles stares at them in silence for a full minute (he knows because he counts along to the loud ticks of the second-hand on the clock high in the corner of the room). “Home,” he repeats, and Isaac just gives this jerky shrug, and tugs on Scott’s sleeve, but doesn’t actually make a move to leave. 

“Yeah?”

Scott is watching Stiles, and he still has a shadow of a smile on his face, but it’s quieter now, muted. “You wanna come over?”

This feels like a test. Like, not one Scott’s doing deliberately, but it’s definitely a test. A best friend test. A Don’t Make This Weird test. And - and lately Scott’s sorta stopped looking like even being in the same _state_ as Allison is crushing his heart right through his ribcage, and _something_ clearly had to help with that, so. It’s not _weird_ , it _isn’t_ \- if you ask Stiles, Isaac’s been throwing Scott Deep And Meaningful Looks since the rave last year, it’s not like _that_ part is so surprising. It’s just.

When did Isaac start calling the McCall household home? Does he know that there’s a key under the fake rock on the driveway? Does Melissa TIVO shows for him when she’s up after a late shift? Does he -

"Does Isaac have a spare key?" 

Scott’s still wearing that _smile_ , and Isaac slumps over the table and gives a curious tilt of his head. "Yeah,” Scott says. “Why?"

"No reason." Bet he didn't get one made without Melissa knowing, like Stiles did. Bet she gave it to him in a tiny little box with a bow on top.

"Stiles." Scott's frowning. "Are you okay?"

"Just peachy," Stiles says. "Yeah, I'll see you in a bit. I just." He swivels in his seat again and flips a page in the textbook. “I actually just remembered I needed to copy a thing down, so I’m gonna do that.”

“You don’t have a notebook,” Scott steps around to Stiles’ lab table with his own textbook in his arms and his backpack slung over one shoulder. “Or a pen.”

“I have a photographic memory,” Stiles lies.

“You do?” Isaac asks, and Stiles and Scott answer, “No,” simultaneously.

There's a drag of silence after that, and Isaac lets out a puff of breath and stands. "Yeah, look, I wanna go home, so follow us or don't - but it'd be nice if you did,” Stiles glances at him, and shifts uncomfortably in his stool. "Scott?"

Scott’s still staring at Stiles, but his gaze pulls away to doubletake Isaac before he stuffs his textbook in his backpack. Isaac's already walking ahead, but Scott's steps are slow, and he asks, hopeful, "You comin', dude?"

"Well - yeah, man," Stiles tells him nonchalantly, and Scott's eyes crinkle when he smiles.

"Follow in your Jeep?"

Stiles nods, and the last thing Stiles hears as they leave is Isaac say, "'Something caught in the back of my throat'. _Really_ , Scott?"

Scott laughs. "You didn't have to pinch me," he says, and the door swings shut behind him.

Stiles despairs.

*

This knot is tightening in his chest and it's fairly ridiculous, all of it. Everything, ever. Stiles loves Scott and he can't say he's ever wanted Scott's dick in or around him, but the idea of Scott hanging out with Isaac, alone, leaves a bad taste of jealousy in his mouth that he never had when Scott was with Allison. 

He’s not sure - maybe because Scott and Allison just fell together - or. No. They crashed. They _wrecked_. There was no slow-building thing with them; it was like throwing a molotov cocktail into a house doused in gas - it’s going to burn, rapid and overwhelming, and it’s going to hurt. 

( _Passionate_ , Stiles’ mind supplies unwittingly, and it sounds so daytime television soap that he could gag but it’s - it’s _true_.)

He doesn’t know what to call Scott and Isaac, but _jealous_ is the word he’s been searching for for weeks, now - ever since he realized that Scott had another friend - another _guy friend_ \- that he might trust as much as Stiles. 

Which sounds so dumb to even _think_ to himself, because it makes him feel small and immature. He’s jealous, and he knows on some level, he can’t understand things about Scott’s life - about who Scott is as a person - that Isaac _does_ because Isaac _is those things, too_.

He’s jealous, and he’s not sure when his best friend started keeping secrets from him.

Scott has never kept a single secret from Stiles his whole life if he could help it, and Stiles is baffled, frankly, that he'd choose not to divulge this one experience in particular. Jesus, Stiles knew Scott was a werewolf before _Scott_ did, and he was totally okay with it. Secret werewolf boyfriends can't possibly be any worse.

“Stiles?”

He lifts his head - Scott is in the doorway, palms pressing against the frame, and he's chewing on the corner of his lip. 

“Hey.” Stiles hesitates, and then slams the textbook shut and waves his hand. “Sorry, I was - just about to leave -”

“No, I’m not -” Scott stops, stares down at his shoes and heaves a sigh - Scott has these _tells_ , and Stiles knows every single one of them. That sigh is his Serious Sigh, the kind he’s only used three times since they’ve been friends. 

(First, after Stiles’ mom died; second, on the first Mother’s Day Stiles celebrated with a ghost, and third -

Third, when Stiles stepped into a ring of gasoline for him and Scott hugged him so tight after that Stiles was sure he cracked a few ribs.)

Scott pushes off the frame to head towards Stiles. "Remember when your mom let us camp out in your backyard?"

Stiles shuts his eyes and nods. They were seven, and lasted an hour before they thought something was trying to eat them. (It was a deer. Stiles maintains it still could have eaten them. He always thought Bambi’s dad was a kind of a dick, anyway.) "She made us hot chocolate, and we camped out in the living room instead."

Scott laughs, but it's subdued. He shuffles around the lab table and rests his hip against its side, to the right of Stiles’ stool. "Stovetop s'mores."

He licks his lips, and reaches out, nudges Stiles in the arm to get Stiles to look at him. "I kissed you. Do you remember that?"

They were telling scary stories, only Stiles got a little _too_ scared, so Scott did what he'd seen Stiles mom do a million and one times: hugged him tight and kissed him to make him forget. Scott had just aimed for his mouth instead of his forehead. It didn't mean anything. Those kinds of kisses - the ones where you're still too young to put any real thought behind it - never do, but still. It was okay. And Stiles wasn't really so scared, after that.

"You were my first kiss, Stiles," he says, and he's smiling when Stiles opens his eyes.

"Yeah," Stiles smiles, briefly. "Mine, too."

“And like,” Scott weighs his next words with a deliberate pause; Stiles can almost see the gears working together in his head, “it’s been us for as long as I can remember, y’know? I don’t - you’re like, my partner in crime, dude. You were here before anyone. And -”

God, he could’ve probably smelled Stiles’ mini insecurity freak out from a _mile away_. 

"- you're the best, you know that?"

Stiles sighs, "The best what, Scott?"

“Best friend - you’re like -” Scott makes a noise like he doesn’t know how to finish, and then he lifts a shoulder and rushes out, “I can’t even picture what my life would be like without you. I don’t want to.” He aims a punch at Stiles’ arm again. “Dude, seriously, the only way you’re getting rid of me is if you shake me off yourself.”

Stiles swallows and his eyes maybe sting a little, but it’s just the two of them in this room, so Stiles’ figures it’s cool. “Yeah, well, tough shit, because I won’t. Shake you off.”

“Because you’re my best friend,” Scott finishes, and Stiles says, “Yeah.”

“And I’m your best friend.”

“The Scooby to my Shaggy,” Stiles nods, and Scott punches him _again_ , which - _ow_. But he huffs out a laugh, and catches Stiles’ eye and Stiles laughs, too, a bit embarrassed-like. 

“Can we forget we totally just had a Moment, and go back to yours for pizza and video games?”

Scott claps him on the shoulder, and it’s sorta nice to know that the person Stiles loves the most loves him back just as much. 

“Thought you’d never ask, dude.”

*

“So,” Stiles pushes the exit door to the school open, and he and Scott walk down the steps with their hands in their pockets. “How long has this been going on, then?" 

Stiles checks him in his periphery; Scott's gnawing on his bottom lip again.

"A week after he moved in."

Isaac is seated sideways on Scott’s bike, legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle, watching, helmet dangling from his fingers. 

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't - I wanted to be sure," Scott says carefully, and he's giving Stiles that look of his, all head slightly cocked and eyes wide and innocuously beguiling. (He probably knows how he looks, though, knows that Stiles can't really resist giving in to it, and this is why Scott is a great leader - he’s learned and grown and Stiles is proud of the shit Scott has done, but it’s in large part due to people constantly underestimating him. And Stiles has learned over the past year or so that underestimating Scott McCall is a very unfortunate life choice.)

"Sure of what?" Stiles asks as they reach Scott’s bike, and Scott shakes his head and looks down. Isaac ducks his head a little to catch Scott’s eye, stoops his back to drop a kiss onto Scott's shoulder, because he's a freakin' half giant and has like, three inches on Scott, easy. 

"This," Scott murmurs, and Stiles knows he means _him_.

And Isaac, Isaac fucking melts, alright; he drops his arms and studies his shoes and laughs, hushed and happy, and Scott looks - he's content, for the first time in months maybe, he's actually really fucking content and Stiles is never going to question something that makes Scott burn as bright as he's supposed to.

“Yeah, alright,” Stiles scratches his chin and squints a little before magnanimously making the sign of the cross in front of them. “I bless this union, or whatever.”

“Your holy acceptance means so much,” Isaac says dryly, but when he and Stiles meet each other’s eyes, he smiles - barely there, a twitch at the ends of his mouth, but it’s so quietly pleased that Stiles does the only thing he can do, really. 

He smiles back.


End file.
